


The Guards of Camelot Are Really Not That Stupid

by AstratheCatha, HunterPeverell



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: But No One Cares, Gen, Like Magic, Magic, Merlin's Magic Revealed, No So Sneaky Merlin, Not So Oblivious Guards, Now complete, They Are Actually Somewhat Smart, They're actually somewhat smart, after years, and notice things, cough cough, nudge nudge, sorry - Freeform, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstratheCatha/pseuds/AstratheCatha, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin thought no one noticed his magic.</p>
<p>He was very, very wrong.</p>
<p>The guards noticed, but never cared enough to turn him in.</p>
<p>Lucky him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sherlocked_Gallifreyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlocked_Gallifreyan/gifts).



Only the most trusted guards had patrol in the castle tower. It was a well-established rule among the guards in Camelot. It was an unspoken rule, but a rule none the less. One had to be skilled in the art of obliviousness to be posted there. As such it was a much respected position.   
There was also rumor that one had to possess certain knowledge be get that job. Currently only three men have the patrol: Ives, Alger, and John. But even those who had never been on that particular patrol have heard the stories. 

The first was the conversations. They say that there are whispers of conversations coming from one of the rooms in the physician’s tower. And some conversations that were shouted, oblivious to their surroundings. They say the conversations spoke of treason and Destiny. They spoke of magic and the Prince. No one heard all of these conversations, just bits here and there. They told of events in the castle differently than how they were reported. The guards on patrol would not confirm these rumors. But neither did they deny them. Everyone left them alone. After all, somethings were better left unheard. 

The second set of rumors were the lights. They say that if you went up the tower at dusk you can sometime see strange lights coming from one set of rooms in particular. Sometimes the lights are soft and warm. They come with gentle murmuring and hints of comfort. Some say a servant girl saw one of these before, when she was in the room. No one wanted to ask her if it was the truth. Somethings are better left unknown. They say sometimes the lights are harsh, a quick blinding flash. They are usual brought by short harsh words and followed shouts of anger, pain, or exasperation. No one tried to investigate these disturbances. Somethings were better left unseen.

This is more fact, more rumor, but it’s all the same. There are certain books that the guards are sure should not exist within the walls of Camelot. Some are poorly hidden, or not hidden at all. And they were all to be found in set of rooms in the castle. But when it really mattered, the books could not be found at all. This eased the guards’ hearts. But when they did catch sight of one such book, they quickly averted their eyes. After all, somethings are better left unread.

And then there was the shadows. They say there are shadows in the tower. Shadows that if you look close enough they might seem rather familiar. The guards on patrol never did. They say that there were shadows that seemed to defy logic. Shadows that shouldn’t be there. The guards on patrol passed them by without a second glance. They ignored the impossible even when it was right in front of them. Because, as they say, some things are better left alone. 

The last rumor, the one that went unspoken, was that Camelot’s Secret Sorcerer lived up in the castle tower, in one particular set of rooms. No one believed this rumor, because they fear what would happen if someone found out it was true. They did not fear for what the Sorcerer would do to Camelot, but for what Camelot would do to the Secret Sorcerer.


	2. Chapter 2

John was a new guard of Camelot. It was a well-respected position, if only because there always seemed to be a need for more guards, and one would be respected if they are willing to take a position that has such a high death rate compared to the other kingdoms. It was late at night and John was guarding the entrance to the king’s chambers. He was stationed with one of the older guards, of course. They were not stupid enough to put new guards on watch alone, especially at the king’s chambers. It was late in the watch and John was getting bored. There were some big debates over the king’s health. It had been deteriorating recently and the court physician could not find out why.

John was pulled out of his thoughts at the approach of a rolling bucket. It stopped at the intersection before the door. He blinked a few times and turned to his fellow guard. Triston took one look at the bucket and groaned. After a brief flash of exasperation, his face fell into an expression of fixated curiosity. Triston whispered something under his breath, which John just caught and only because he was standing next to him.

“Follow it.”

“What?” John replied in an equally low tone of voice. The only explanation that John could think of was that he was supposed to follow the bucket, which was impossible. It was stopped in front of them. He just assumed some servant, on a late night errand, dropped the bucket. But then the bucket turned and started rolling off down another hallway. It took him a minute to register the blatant act of sorcery before he turned to his fellow guard to ask what they should do. John didn’t know if they should attack the sorcerer or alert the prince.

“Keep quiet and just follow it.” John blinked a few times by the calm, if a little exasperated tone of his companion. He seemed completely undisturbed by the obvious use of magic. Not knowing exactly what to do, he followed his superior’s order and followed the rolling bucket down the hall and away from his post. He wasn’t too shocked when Triston followed. Once they were out of sight of the king’s chambers, Triston and John stopped following the bucket which continued rolling around a corner. Triston looked around and pulled John into a nearby alcove.

“That… that was sorcery!” John whispered, the full implications of what was happening dawned on him. And he started to panic. There was a sorcerer in Camelot and they just let him, or her, have unfettered access to the king’s chambers. Prince Arthur was going to kill him, if the sorcerer didn’t get to him first.

“Yes it was. Its ok, just breathe. I remember my first time. It gave me quite a fright as well. But you get used to it.” Triston started patting John’s back as he fended off a panic attack. Once he could breathe properly again, he turned to his companion, but Triston grabbed his arm and roughly turned his back facing the far wall of the alcove.

“What do you mean first time? And shouldn’t we be reporting this to the Prince? And why can’t I look at you?” John asked as the two of them pushed themselves in the darkest corner of the alcove, facing away from the entrance, and the pitter patter of booted feet ran past.

“This is not the first time this kind of thing happened. No, we should not report this to the king. And plausible deniability.” John blinked a few times, trying to process what the other guard just said. He had way too many questions about this entire situation. He decided it was best just to ask one at a time.

“Plausible deniability?” He figured that it would be one of the easiest questions to answer and one he probably would understand the most.

“If we didn’t see who did it, we would be lying when we say we did not see anything.” That made sense to him, but was still very confusing.

“Why are we not reporting this to Arthur?” That was the most important question, after all.

“Because, it just the Secret Sorcerer.”

The what?

“The what?” He voiced his thought aloud.

“Camelot’s Secret Sorcerer. I think the druids call him Emrys. But I only heard that from Joslin who was in the room when Uther was told about him.”

“But magic is illegal!” John was quickly hushed when he accidently raised his voice.

“Hence the secret part.”

“But shouldn’t you turn him in?” Tristen just shrugged and dared a glance out of the alcove.

“We think he has saved Camelot more times than we can count. Plus, he is supposedly powerful. I like my life. What about you?”

“Umm… yeah I guess. Is there anyone who actually knows who he is?” Tristen looked out of the alcove again and gestured that it was safe to come out. Neither of them said a word as they returned to their post. John looked down the hall to the left, just in time to see a single leg disappear around a corner. Triston quickly tugged on his arm to get his attention.

“Some of the older guards have some ideas of who the Secret Sorcerer is. But they don’t investigate much beyond the occasional debate amongst themselves. Plausible deniability and all. Although, I have heard that they have come to an agreement of who the most likely candidate it. But Julius still doesn’t agree. But he never agrees.”

“And how many times has this actually happened?” John’s initial panic has subsided. Now he was genuinely curious.

“Well, I believe the bucket rolling down the corridor has been used around ten times, but we’d have to go back to the barracks to find out for sure. We try and at least keep track of every time this happens. Just in case.” That seemed reasonable. They were at least monitoring the situation. It wasn’t as if they were letting a sorcerer run free.

“Plus, Arthur _has_ to know about him. It is not like the sorcerer is being overly subtle.”

The next day the king made a miraculous recovery that seem almost like magic, and no one looked too much into his recovery. They tracked down the sorcerer who cast the spell which made Uther sick in the first place and killed him. No one asked how Uther recovered, or if there was anything else that happened during his recovery. It was swept under the rug. Although there was rumor a nice basket of fresh fruit delivered to a certain citizen of Camelot by the members of the court.


	3. Chapter 3

Ives wasn’t new to Camelot. He wasn’t new to guard duty, either. In fact, he was a senior guard, going on twenty years next Beltane. He had served the Pendragons longer than most, and he knew that his work was appreciated.

He also knew, however, that he couldn’t protect the family from everyone.

Ives was fairly sure he was the only one who knew— _for sure_ —who Camelot’s Secret Sorcerer was. He wouldn’t tell a soul, of course; though magic was evil, the boy had used it for nothing but good. He made Ives’ job a whole lot easier, and seemed to know more about the going ons in Camelot than the King.

Ives encouraged his subordinates to follow the mysterious rolling barrels and the flying dice whenever those arose. He knew from personal experience what those meant; he wasn’t letting anyone get in the way of their Secret Sorcerer’s duty. The guards kept quiet, they blindly followed the obviously magical distractions, and the royal family lived one more day.

Ives could rest easy.

It was four years since the Secret Sorcerer came to Camelot, and it seemed that no matter which way Ives turned, there was someone or something trying to kill their royal Highnesses. He’d see the Secret Sorcerer getting paler and paler, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. Ives would help him when he could; carry the laundry basket, catch him if he tripped, things like that. Some guards took the hint and did likewise, making sure to lend a hand to all the staff, lest they draw attention to the Secret Sorcerer.

Ives, however, did not expect the magical threat to come from within.

His youngest son, Sewal, was visiting. Ives couldn’t be a prouder father of the little tyke, and he led the boy through the hallways on his daily rounds. Sewal struggled to walk straight, matching his little limbs to Ives’ and marching with a look of fierce concentration.

Suddenly a candle blew out next to him. Ives stopped dead, looking around in apprehension.

“Papa?” Sewal asked softly.

A candle went out further down the hall to their right.

“’S okay, Sewal,” Ives whispered, throat suddenly dry. “We’re jus’ gonna go down that ‘allway, al’right?”

“Yes, papa,”

Sewal followed Ives down the hallway until they came upon a bench.

“Now Sewal,” Ives said, kneeling next to his small son who perched on the bench. “I want you ta stay ‘ere, okay? Be real quiet.”

Sewal nodded silently.

Ives stole back down the hallway, heart thudding, because they had been going down the hallway with _Lady Morgana’s chambers_ , and though he trusted the Secret Sorcerer, it was his _duty_ to make sure the royals were safe.

He paused near the door, ready to knock if need be when he heard voices talking. He waited, listening intently.

“Morgana, your fight is not with Arthur and Gwen,” the Secret Sorcerer’s voice murmured softly. “Leave them out of this.”

“Arthur would turn me in just as surely as Uther would have me killed.” Though Ives recognized the Lady Morgana’s voice, he had never heard it so full of hatred.

“You _know_ that’s not true,” the Secret Sorcerer said.

The Lady Morgana laughed, high and bitter. “Is it not?” she asked. “Stay out of my way, Merlin, or you may find yourself dead.”

There was silence, one that stretched for what seemed like eternity.

“Who would have believed it,” the Secret Sorcerer said at last. “Morgause finally has a spy in Camelot, and it’s the last person anyone would suspect.” “Get out,” the Lady Morgana snarled.

There were footsteps drawing near the door, and Ives beat a hasty retreat back to his son, who was still sitting quietly. He wrapped Sewal up in his arms and didn’t let go until the candles relit themselves, bathing the corridor in a yellow glow.

“Papa, wha’ is it?”

“Nothing, Sewal,” Ives muttered, looking off down the hallway. “It’s being taken care of.”


	4. Chapter 4

Alger was one of the guards was chosen to be a part of the envoy following Prince Arthur. They going to some foreign kingdom for a jousting event. He didn't really pay attention to what the nobility did. Now don’t get him wrong, he loves his prince, just as much as everyone else in Camelot does. He just has as much more important things to worry about. Such as the bandits attacking the traveling party right now. Much more important than who won the most recent jousting tournament in which kingdom. Alger drew his sword and swung it at the nearest bandit. The bandit ducked the sword and stabbed his quarter staff into Alger’s gut. Before he could recover, the bandit turned, threw out his hand, said a word in a foreign language, and a nearby guard was thrown against a tree.

So these are not bandits. They are rouge Druids. Alger hoped that Ives was right when he said that Camelot’ Secret Sorcerer followed Arthur everywhere. Because they would never be able to fight off 20 sorcerers without his help. After he caught his breath Alger turned and killed a bandit. He cut through two more before he was thrown backward and pinned against a tree. He looked around and saw a druid with his hand raised towards Alger and his eyes glowing yellow. 

Now that he was not participating in the fight he noticed several things. The first was that all of the horses had golden eyes and were trampling the Druids in a coordinated fashion. The wind started to pick-up and was tossing the Druids around the road. Alger also noticed that he and one other person were still conscious. At least among the traveling party, the Druids were in varying states of consciousness. But that did not look like it would last long. After a slight panic, he noted that Arthur was knocked out at the edge of the road. He also looked like he was still breathing. In fact, most every looked like everyone in their party was still breathing. He also noticed that all of the druids were carrying quarterstaffs. He thought perhaps, that they did not come here to kill. He wondered what they had come here to do.

After a few minutes, everything settled down. For a while everything was quiet as the last standing druid squared off against the last standing member of the traveling party. Alger may be conscious but he was no longer standing. He was more slumped against a tree. Then both of the standing men raised their arms and their eyes flashed gold. For a minute they looked like mirrors of each other. They had the same dark hair and the same gold eyes. They had raised the opposite arm, so they were mirror images of each other. The only difference was one spoke words and the other did not. Suddenly weapons from the battle begun flinging themselves.

Alger saw daggers flying through the air, as if they had been thrown. Swords rose into the air and started swinging like some odd dance. There were even some sharp pointy sticks flying through the air, aiming for the softest parts of the body. The druid repeated spell after spell, the words rolling off of his tough one after the other. He barely paused to take a breath. But the other man was not saying a word. Both men’s eyes flashed gold often and quickly that they were only their normal color for a fraction of a second. And with each flash another weapon moved. Some started their flight and others altered their trajectory.

Every now and them, a weapon would get through the defenses close enough to nick their opponent, most often the Druid. This lasted for about a minute when Alger noticed a dagger flying towards the silent man’s head. He tried to call out a warning to the young man, but a quarterstaff hit him in the head on its path. Almost immediate the world around him became blurry. The men came in and out of focus multiple time before settling on unfocused. His thoughts slurred and it became hard to focus. Only two clear thoughts flashed through his mind as he fell unconscious.

So that's who Camelot’s Court Sorcerer is.

Ives was right. It all makes sense now. Camelot’s Court Sorcerer is always with the king. Because he is…

And Alger fell into the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

“Well, Merlin,” John said cheerfully, “back again?”  
The Crown Prince’s manservant smiled tightly as John led him to the dungeons. The torchlight flickered across the boy’s face, making him seem gaunt and tired.  
“Yeah,” was all Merlin said.  
“Tha’s, what? Fifth time in a fortnight?”  
“Yeah,” Merlin said again as they came to his cell. John unlocked it, falling silent at the servant’s quietness.  
“Food’ll be down ‘ere soon,” John said quietly, grasping Merlin’s shoulder before the boy could enter the cell. “I’ll see if I can’t get the cook to throw in a few extra rolls.”  
“Thanks,” Merlin said, a flicker of gratefulness in his eyes. A wry smile crossed his face. “Y’know, I’m pretty sure I eat better in the dungeons than I do in the castle.”  
John chuckled and waved Merlin in. “So, what’d you do to make Arthur throw you in ‘ere?”  
Merlin sighed as John swung the door closed, locking it tightly. Merlin collapsed on the straw at the far wall, drawing his knees up to his chest. John sat on the bench opposite, ready to listen to the boy rant until it was off his chest.  
“The prat won’t accept I’m actually good at my job,” Merlin said, and John shook his head, having heard this before. John would never speak ill of his prince, but sometimes . . .  
“He thought you got another servant to do your work,” he said.  
Merlin nodded glumly. “It stings. I try to be good at my job. I don’t need anyone else to do it!”  
“What’d you do?” John asked again.  
“I managed to polish his armor to his liking.” Merlin said. “First time _that’s_ ever happened. He wouldn’t believe I’d done it.”  
“How long ya in ‘ere for?”  
“Just tonight.”  
John clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “I’ll go get the food, okay?”  
Merlin’s answering smile was much more heartfelt. “Thanks, John.”  
“’Course.”  
When John got back—successfully with the extra bread rolls he was pleased to say—he paused in the entrance to the dungeons, listening. There was a strange sound coming from the cells—mutterings. Mumblings. It almost sounded like . . . _magic_.  
John was old enough to remember magic. His cousin had been a magic user and had burned for it when he was five. But he still remembered the strangely liquid sounds that had poured from her mouth as she enchanted the wheat to grow faster.  
He knew the Secret Sorcerer lived within the walls of Camelot. Ives had told him, and just last week Alger told him about the incident with the rouge Druids.  
He smiled and pretended to stumble. The mumbling stopped.  
“Got the extra bread, Merlin!” John shouted as he entered the cells. The air was warmer than it had been, and Merlin was looking more alert. He grinned at John and reached for the plate, tearing into the bread. John settled down on the bench with his own plate and felt quite smug that he, at least, knew who Camelot’s secret hero was.  
Pity no one else knew.


	6. Chapter 6

“So . . .” Goce said, leaning against the doorframe. “What’s this I hear about a Secret Sorcerer?”

Drest’s startled jump—one that caused him to drop his torch, which he picked up most abashedly—was enough of an answer.

“Dunno what you mean,” Drest muttered, carefully not looking at Goce. Ah, oh, but Goce _knew_ that Drest knew something and if there was one thing having seven older siblings taught you—if was that anyone could be worn down.

Drest hurried along the shadowed corridor, Goce matching him step for step.

“Now, see, I’ve been hearin’ talk.” Goce said. “Ives and John and whatnot. And lookin’ through the gossip and the events of the past couple-a year’s makes it hard for me to think that magic ain’t involved in some way, shape, or form.”

“’S not.” Drest muttered.

“Oh, but yer _lyin’_.” Goce said gleefully. “Yer lyin’ ‘cause you _know_ somethin’!”

“Don’t!” Drest protested.

“Do too!”

“I don’t!” Drest whirled to face him, looking slightly wild-eyed. Goce stopped with him, wondering why Drest was looking so frantic.

“You can’t _say_ anything!” Drest said.

“But ‘s magic.” Goce said. “You all might be content to ignore it but . . .”

“No!” Drest said forcefully, spittle flying from his mouth. “I don’t know who it is and I _don’t_ want to. They’re what’s keepin’ us safe.”

Goce drew himself up. “Camelot’s guards,” he began heatedly.

“Are rubbish.” Drest interrupted. “We’ve been attacked how many times?”

“Camelot’s always survived!”

Drest shook his head. “Only ‘cause of that sorcerer,” he said flatly. “ _Only ‘cause_. You go blabbering, an’ the King hears? A Witchfinder’ll be up ‘ere sooner than you could blink an’ then Camelot would be defenseless an’ we’d all die.”

“Magic is forbidden,” Goce said weakly, doubting that answer for the first time in his life when he saw Drest’s terror-filled face.

Drest shook his head resolutely. “It is,” he said. “And that’s why Camelot’s Sorcerer is a _secret_.”

Drest hurried on. Goce remained quiet until his shift ended. Then he calmly went to Ives’ office and handed in his resignation.

“I can’t keep it a secret,” he said, shrugging. Ives said nothing, merely signed his release papers and wished him luck.


	7. Chapter 7

Gregor was walking patrol in the lower town. It wasn’t the most “prestigious” patrol but it was one that he preferred. During the day, it meant interacting with the townspeople. And at night it meant not staring at the same stone wall for hours on end. So Gregor was always happy to take it. It did have one down side. There were lots of things that happened in the lower town at night. For example, the bakers nearly grown daughter running into his arms. 

Now, most people would love to have Lira run into your arms. She was the sweetest, most beautiful peasant girl out there. And the moment she came of age, she would have every single male asking for her hand in marriage. But currently she was panting, shaking, and scared to death. Gregor pulled the girl back to look her in the face.

“Lira, what is wrong?” She looked up into his eyes, struggling to catch her breath.

“Evil… Sorcerer… trying… to kill… us all.” She panted out every couple of breaths. She turns a little to point in the direction that she had come from. Gregor was beginning to become a little worried. It had been pretty peaceful in Camelot lately, so they were due for another attempt for a takeover soon. But he was hoping that they would wait until after his watch, or at least in the morning.

“Calm down, Lire. What did you see?” She nodded, and began her story. Apparently she was walking how late because her father was becoming sick and she need to get more water for his cough. But when she was walking back she saw several barrels fall over and start rolling away from their spot. She was so freaked out that she didn’t look to see if she could spot the sorcerer.

“Umm… I will handle it. Just go back home and lock the doors. And you probably shouldn’t tell anyone what you saw. It wouldn’t be wise to start a panic. It is just want the sorcerer wants.” In truth, Gregor wasn’t going to handle it. He was going to go tell Ives and he was going to handle it. This could be the Secret Sorcerer or it could be someone completely different, who is actually out to kill them all. Gregor really didn’t know what to do. If it was the Secret Sorcerer, he was getting sloppy. He usually didn’t perform magic in front of the common people or anyone except the guards. It helps them keep his or her secret. Gregor didn’t know how they were going to cover this one up. 

Sighing, he watched as Lira nearly ran back towards her father’s house before he turned to report to Ives. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. He just knew it.


	8. Chapter 8

_“Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!”_

Everything must come to an end, and the reign of King Arthur was no different. Ives watched from his post at the doorway of the great hall as the Queen was crowned.

Her face solemn, her conduct regal, he knew she would bring peace and prosperity to Camelot.

And yet…

And yet … Everyone in the hall could sense it, the fact that an Age had passed. The Golden King was no more, and his Shadow had disappeared.

***

Ives was old when he saw Merlin next. Many years had passed and he knew his time was coming to an end.

He left his post at Camelot and retreated with his wife to a small village between Camelot and Essetir. It was calm and peaceful, and his earnings from the capital forged them a quiet existence.

Some nights, he’d sit in front of his doorway and watch the world grow soft and blue under the fading light. He’d listen to the twitter of birds as they bedded down for the evening and pick out the emerging stars peering down at him from above. And, ever present in the back of his throat, the tingle of magic would hover, soft, soothing, and remind him that balance existed once more within Albion.

It was one of these nights where he sat and watched the world spin around him that he saw a tall figure loping down the path before his house. Ives frowned, for the man was heading the opposite direction of the little village with its small inn.

“Traveler,” he called to the dark-haired young man before his hut. “Take shelter! The night is nearly upon you! There are many dangers along that path after nightfall.”

The lad’s head turned and Ives knew that face, a face which hadn't aged a day and which was creased with a grief Ives could never comprehend.

“I'll be alright,” the once-secret sorcerer said, readjusting his pack before resuming his trek into the rising gloam.

“Yes,” Ives murmured. “One day you'll be alright, Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm going to call this good before it gets abandoned for sure with no closure. Thank you for all who commented and liked this story, we really appreciate it! I know this was a serious, angsty ending to an otherwise cracky story, but AstratheCatha is the light-hearted comedian between the two of us :P
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this story and thank you all so much for reading!


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